


10 Commodes

by misura



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Ten Totally Cute and Totally Fake Stories About When and Where They'd Met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10 Commodes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilly_the_kid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilly_the_kid/gifts).



.01

in a dirty alley, behind a club - Eddie'd been all get up in one of his daddy's suits and Vic'd walked by, looking cocky and full of himself and entirely too interested in some waitress's ass, so Eddie'd grabbed his and asked _how much?_ like he meant it, and Vic'd replied _for you? make it a hundred_ like he knew damn well whose son he was talking to.

And Eddie was a nice guy, sure; nothing ironic about that nickname of his, but when you gave a guy a benjamin to blow you, well, wasn't nobody going to fucking respect you, after, if you didn't make sure to get your money's worth now, was it?

 

.02

in an office, not Eddie's - _a hundred?_ Eddie's daddy asked, scowling, _what are you, cheap? any man wants to keep working for me, he better put a fair price on his ass - what do you think I'm running here, a whore house?_ and Eddie'd nodded and said _yes, dad, sorry, dad_ and Vic was willing to bet nobody but him saw that Eddie was honest-to-God blushing - from his neck down, just a bit.

And Vic was a working boy, yeah, but he hadn't done it for the money the first time and he sure wasn't going to start doing so now, so he kept his head cool and his hands where everyone could see them and his eyes on all kinds of places except Eddie.

 

.03

in an office, Eddie's - _you need to have this fucking carpet cleaned more often,_ Vic said, because sure, he wasn't planning to eat off of it or anything, but still. _Is that blood?_

 _What the fuck kind of question is that?_ Eddie asked. _Seriously, Vic, you're lucky you got such a cute face - of course that's not blood, come on, like I'd do anything in here that'd get blood on the carpet, what, you think I'm some sort of thug?_

 _Naw,_ Vic said. _I mean, you fuck like a choir boy or something._

(Still wasn't blood on the carpet, after. Some new spots, yeah; wasn't ever going to get those out, probably, but nobody'd look at them and think they were blood.)

 _I'm getting a new carpet,_ Eddie said, and Vic grunted and said, _good idea_.

 

.04

in a diner - _stop checking out the waitresses like you're actually interested,_ Eddie said. _Like you're not my fucking bitch,_ and he snapped his fingers, as if Vic really was some sort of mutt being called to heel.

They'd picked a booth in the back, and Eddie could keep real quiet when Vic blew him, making it some sort of challenge to try and even get so much as a whimper out of him, or a sigh, or a hiccuped giggle when Vic gave up and opted for tickling instead of sucking.

 

.05

in a warehouse - _ain't you a picture?_ Vic asked, his hands buried in Eddie's too soft and curly hair while Eddie's mouth was otherwise occupied, his lips all gorgeous and red and swollen. _fuck._

(They were going to, one day, probably; only a matter of time till they reached that bridge and burnt it behind them like all the others, but Vic figured it wasn't going to be him making the first move - blowing a guy was one thing; letting him get all up your ass was something else again, and he liked his job right now, liked working for Eddie's daddy, making a dishonest, indecent living.)

 

.06

in an office, still not Eddie's - _they were fucking early,_ Vic said, because the fuckers had been fucking early, meaning that in his book, they didn't have any fucking right to fucking complain about what they'd fucking seen, getting there nearly half an hour early, for fuck's sake, who did that, anyway?

This line of work, professionalism equaled punctuality, and punctuality didn't equal getting there early.

 _Next time, get a room, you two,_ Eddie's daddy said, and Eddie nodded and Vic nodded, and the two fuckers who'd been early nodded too, even if nobody'd been talking to them.

Vic figured pretty fucking soon, nobody was going to anymore, either.

 

.07

in a hotel room - _bed, even,_ Vic said; it felt like too much, too normal; Mister and Missus Average American Citizen checked into a hotel to spend the night and do naughty things, but him and Eddie, well, it wasn't like that, was it? Not for Vic, anyway, he didn't think.

 _You can blow me in the shower,_ Eddie said. _It's clean and shiny, and they've got some really fluffy towels,_ and Vic refrained from saying something rude.

 

.08

in Eddie's office - noisy and loud and Vic figured anyone who hadn't caught on to what was gotten up to in here was either deaf, blind or stupid, and maybe all three.

He still liked his job, the work, the hours, the feeling of Eddie's sweet ass in his hands, the sensation of Eddie's hands on his own not nearly so sweet ass. Vic was a good-looking fellow, and knew it.

Of course, with everyone but Eddie, it was all look, don't touch.

A lesser man, now, or even an average one, he might have begun to resent his lot a bit by now, started looking for some way to prove his independence, or maybe seek to get promoted before his time, get something else out of their position aside from, well, the position.

Vic wasn't just a pretty face, though; he could think, too, and what he was thinking was, this thing they had going on here, him and Eddie, it wasn't so bad. Fellow could get used to worse.

 

.09

in prison - well, not really; Eddie knew better than to come by and visit, and anyway, no such thing as a conjugal visit for a couple of faggots; Vic wasn't looking for that kind of fucking heat, thanks.

He kept his head down and cool, and if maybe sometimes he imagined his own hand to be a bit smaller, the kind a little softer, his own breathing slightly quicker and belonging to someone else, so fucking what? Man made do in prison, there wasn't any shame in that.

Eddie sent him cookies on his birthday, four years in a row, though. Home-made, with a label claiming they were from his Aunt Norma, who was still alive and well, as far as Vic knew, and who'd likely as not swear up and down she'd seen a swarm of purple hippos flying over her house the other night.

 

.10

out of prison - a manly hug in public was allowed, between friends, not that Vic thought a whole lot of people were fooled, but then there was such a thing as discretion and he wasn't looking to draw any heat, especially with Office Scagnetti still riding his ass in (thank God for smaller mercies) the figurative sense of the word only.

 _You should come and see Dad,_ Eddie said, warm and a little bit chubby and still too fucking soft around the edges. He felt like home and freedom and all things good, and Vic wanted to take him to some hotel room with fluffy towels and blow him in the shower and then again sitting on the edge of the two-person bed, but instead of all that, he said, _Yeah_.

Being sentimental'd never gotten anyone anywhere, anyway.


End file.
